


therapy

by rubyjean_jacket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Fix-It, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Season/Series 13, Still sad though, Therapy, They need it, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24168376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyjean_jacket/pseuds/rubyjean_jacket
Summary: "It's how normal people deal, Dean."Alternate version to 13x04, The Big Empty.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

Sam's POV

"This is a dumb idea," Dean grumbles, slamming the door to his Impala shut. It makes me wince. Dean is never rough with his Baby.

"Just follow my lead," I say, praying to Chuck that Dean's temper doesn't fuck up the entire investigation.

He snorts at this, shoving his hands into his pockets as we climb the steps, Jack trailing behind. He bites off some of his signature sarcasm. "Yeah, doctor's gonna eat our liver with some fava beans and a bottle of Chianti."

A man passes us on our way up the path, smiling at us. "Hello!" he says brightly, but Dean just shoulders past him. It's awkward. I give the man an apologetic smile and continue into the house.

There's no one in the foyer. I take a step forward, ahead of Dean, and call out, "Hello?"

"Can I help you?"

I jump. The receptionist seemingly appeared from nowhere. Thankfully, I didn't pull my gun. Talk about blowing an investigation. I clear my throat. "Yeah, we're, uh... hoping to see the doctor."

"Oh, I'm sorry," the man says, sounding genuinely disappointed. "You caught us right at the end of our day. Maybe tomorrow?" he asks, moving toward his computer in preparation to book us an appointment.

I'm about to say yes, lovely, thank you, how about two o'clock?, but Dean has other plans. And when he's in a pissy mood, Dean follows his own schedule.

"No, today's good," he says, nonchalant but threatening. "Like right now."

And now I have to clean up his mess. The poor receptionist looks terrified, and rightfully so.

"He—Uh, we just need a moment of her time," I will offer as explanation, making my voice as soft and gentle as possible to make up for Dean's roughness.

I think for a moment that he won't let us in, but at that moment, the doctor arrives.

"You've lost someone recently?" she asks. Subtle.

Dean, of course, jumps straight to denial. Jack is a little more honest. With all of his three-day-old innocence, he says, "My mother."

Suddenly, an evil spirit grips me, and I amend the nephilim's statement. "Uh, his mother, Dean's fiancé. We've been having a difficult time."

She rushes to shake our hands, and Dean glares daggers at me, practically turning the air to poison. "Mia Vallens."

"Hi. Dean," my brother says curtly, and a shadow flickers across her face. No doubt she senses his hostility.

I decide to take control of the situation. "That's Jack, and I'm Sam, Dean's little brother."

"I see. Please, this way."

She knows something's up, I can feel it.

"Sure," I say, following her into her office. There's no possible way this can go wrong. Absolutely none at all.

Sarcasm, of course. This is going to be a fucking disaster.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean's POV

"Your mother—she passed suddenly?" Mia asks Jack, who looks to me before nodding in affirmation. Good.

She nods thoughtfully. "Most of the people I see are in the same boat. No warning, no goodbye, no closure."

Gesturing to the sofas and chairs, we all take a seat. I'm on edge, and Sam's burning glare isn't helping matters.

"Right, yeah," I say. I don't have a fucking clue why Sam pulled this shit, but now I have no choice but to play along. "Pretty much the same for us. Um... So how does this usually work? You know, with your patients?" It's no secret that I want this torment over as soon as possible.

"Usually, they just start talking about the person they've lost."

She says it like it's so obvious. How the hell am I supposed to know this crap?

"All right, well, Cas was great, now she's dead. What's the deal with catharsis?"

"I'm sorry?" Mia asks, stunned at the complete 180 the conversation has turned. Sam is facepalming internally, I can tell. But I'm going to get this done fast. Just rip the band-aid right off.

Sam tries to save it, but Mia is still looking at us, namely me, like we're insane. "Uh, we—we were wondering what that is. Um, a patient of yours, Gloria Simon, she referred us. She's a family friend."

And the questioning expression has turned to suspicion. Fan-freaking-tastic. Great work, Sammy.

"I don't talk about my patients," she says slowly, as if she's trying to make sense of all this, "and Gloria wasn't supposed to talk about me."

Sam nods, and quickly steers the discussion away from Gloria. "Sure, um... got it. But your process—"

He trails off, and Mia gladly accepts the olive branch, launching into a well-rehearsed line. "My program is a range of things. Talk therapy, meditation. You ever journal?"

"Our dad did," Sam says, even though that's not the question. He's just trying to make us sound normal.

"Dean? You journal?"

Aw, shit. I thought she had forgotten about me. No such luck.

"Ever since I was a little girl," I quip, smiling a sarcastic smile. She's not impressed.

"You think this shrink stuff is a load of crap. Am I right?"

Well, it is.

"How'd you guess?"

"Then why are you here?"

To kill you, duh.

"Because, uh, we all agreed we'd give it a shot, right?" Sam jumps in, and I hate him for it. I hate being here, and I hate having to talk to this dumb medium therapist person. 

With a look from Sam, Jack nods. Next, Sam looks pointedly at me. "Right?"

Damn you, Sam.

I smile. Everyone knows it's fake as hell.

"My brother, he's not, uh, he's not processing his grief. He refuses to admit anything's wrong, and it's not healthy."

Yes, thank you Sam, for your input.

Mia nods, and looks at me again with that look. That pitying, sympathetic look. I hate it.

"Really? No, I'm..." I laugh, and it's forced. "No, I'm good, actually. With death, closure, whole freakin' bottle of Jack."

I'm so fucking uncomfortable.

Sam just keeps prying. At this point, he's doing more work than the therapist. "Are you?" he asks.

I look at him, knowing exactly the right thing to say to make him shut up. "Yeah. Because I know that Cas is dead, and I know that she's not coming back."

He sighs. "Okay, I hear what you're saying, I just wish..."

Mia cuts him off. "You wish he'd be more open to therapy?" she asks.

Nodding, Sam agrees, "Sure. Exactly."

I don't have to take this anymore. "All right, this is a safe place, right, Doc?" I ask, patronizing. I don't care. She's a big girl; she can take it. "Okay. My brother's delusional..."

"Dean—"

"You said you wanted to give this a shot, right?" I ask, and he goes silent. "Here we go. He won't even admit that Cas is dead. Won't even admit it."

"Stop," Sam whispers.

I don't.

"Because if he admits it, then it's real. If it's real, then he has to deal with it, and he can't handle that!"

Sam finally snaps. "Right, because this is so easy for you, huh?" he yells at me, rising to his feet to tower over me. All 6'4" of him. "You loved Cas! You still do!"

"No, it's not easy," I say, my voice rising as I do. I'm not quite as tall, so it's less impressive.

"Yeah, but you had a relationship! Do you know how hard I prayed for you to find someone? Someone to make you feel like you were worth something? Like you deserved to be saved?"

I can't breathe.

"You had something with Cas I never had! And I was so damn happy for you! And now I'm just supposed to let it go? Pretend like that whole chapter of our lives never happened?"

The room is filled with red-hot anger. For a moment, we just stare at each other, inches apart, taught as a bowstring.

Finally Sam takes a step back. "I need some air," he says, and flees the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean's POV

I take a swig from my flask, feeling the reassuring burn of the alcohol slide down my throat. At least one thing in this shit-storm stays constant— the peace hard liquor brings.

Hearing a scoff, I look up to see the shrink looking at me with distaste. "Problem?" I ask, really not in the mood.

"You just upset your brother so much, he had to leave the room." she says. Oh, so now she thinks I'm some sort of manipulative, abusive asshole. Great.

Sam's right. I really have become our father, in all his flawed glory.

"And Jack? Your stepson? Look at him. He's terrified of you."

It's my turn to scoff now. "Nah. No, we're simpatico. Right, kid?" I shoot Jack a look, and he complies.

"We're simpatico," he parrots. I don't even know if he knows what that means.

"Convincing."

I want to punch her right in her self-righteous face.

"You're angry, Dean," Mia says, her voice growing softer. I sense there's more to her statement, though, so I ask.

"And?"

"And if you don't want to do anything about it, that's your business," she says. I seriously doubt that. "But you're aiming it at everyone in your life, and they don't deserve that. Especially Jack. You lost the love of your life. He lost his mother. You're more alike than you want to admit."

This just got real awkward. Jack is still here, and he's hearing all of this.

I flop back on the couch, kicking my feet up on the spot Sam vacated. Suddenly, I find that the hole in my heart is opening up again.

I take another mouthful of whisky and close my eyes, letting the familiar tingle take me away, too a better time— one with blonde-haired women, black-clad and sarcastic demons, and angels with the most beautiful blue eyes, ones that made the oceans jealous and the skies pale.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack's POV

Dean is sprawled out on the couch, drinking. By the look on the woman's face, I judge this behaviour to be one she frowns upon.

"Is this how he usually deals with loss?" she asks me. I do not know how to answer. After all, I have not known the Winchesters for as long as she thinks.

Because we lied to her. I do not understand how this works. Lying is bad. People who lie are bad people. But Sam and Dean lie, and they are the good people.

It is confusing.

I realize that she is still waiting for an answer, and that I must come up with one. Assuming that this is in character for Dean, I say, "Yes, I think so. It is more intense than usual. My mother and him were very close."

I still do not understand why Sam said that Castiel was my mother, but for the sake of keeping up the lie, I must agree with her.

"And your mother's name was Cass?" Mia asks me, and I nod. Again, the reasoning is beyond me. 

"They were together a long time," I say, though I don't know why. I reached further into my memories, remembering when I reached out to Castiel while still unborn. "They loved each other very much."

She makes a note on her clipboard. "Dean doesn't seem like a very open man. Did he ever show affection to you and your mother?"

It is puzzling how people misunderstand Dean's roughness for a lack of caring, when it is, in fact, the opposite. He is a very emotional man, almost too much so.

I tell her this, and she nods. "But how, exactly, do you know he loved your mother, what things did he do that proved it to you?" she asked.

"He looked at her like she was his world," I say at last, realizing it is true as I say it. "He called her Sunshine, Angel, sweetheart. He never let anyone hurt her, and he always called her Cas, and made sure she knew just how special she was to him."

"Dean seems very hostile towards you. Any idea why?"

Suddenly, the answer is clear.

"He blames me," I whisper.

Leaning forward, she asks, "How so?"

I fumble for a lie that will work. "He thought it was my fault she died. He said I could have stopped it."

"But you're just a kid, Jack. How could Dean expect you to do anything about it?"

When I speak again, it's with a power I've never heard before.

"Because I promised her I would always protect her."


	5. Chapter 5

Dean's POV

When Sam comes back in, I still haven't moved. My eyes are still sewn shut, and my arm is propped up on the couch's arm, the perfect position to dispense alcohol into my waiting mouth. I know he arrives because I hear his long-suffering moose sigh, and feel his disappointing gaze.

That, and the office door squeaks.

Sam and Jack say their farewells to the doctor, and I stay, unmoving. They wait for me a moment, then Sam heaves another gigantic moose sigh and leaves. The door squeals shut behind him. I can only assume he took Jack with him.

Mia's looking at me. She says, very quietly, "You can get through his, Dean. You're strong. You're determined. Use that. Stop destroying yourself."

Again, I say nothing. I hear her move around the room, packing up her stuff. Her wheelie chair rolls across the floor and slides into her desk with a soft whomp. Her feet putter-patter softly across the hardwood.

Eventually, she says, "You can't stay here, Dean, you know that."

"Yeah, I know," I whisper hoarsely, but don't bother to open my eyes.

"You can always come back tomorrow, though. My door is always open."

That, however, earns a look. Sitting up, I look at her and ask bluntly, "What makes you think I need any of this catharsis mumbo-jumbo? What makes you think I need to see a shrink to sort myself out? What makes you think I give a crap about anything you have to say to me?"

Her answer is simple. She just smiled and says, "You're still here, aren't you?"


	6. Chapter 6

Sam's POV

I don't let Dean drive back to the motel, and he mopes about it the whole ride back.

Jack counts the streetlights we pass out loud. "Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine..."

Dean says nothing.

"Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three..."

Still nothing.

I change the station, turning the radio to some crappy pop song about ex-boyfriends or something.

No reaction.

"Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight..."

It's the most surreal experience of my life. Dean Winchester, in one of his pissiest moods, who could get mad at absolutely anything, barely blinks. It's like he's gone comatose.

—

We pull into the parking lot and Dean finally comes alive. He hops out of the passenger seat, slams the door shut, and storms off into the night, announcing that he's "going for a goddamned walk." In the dark. In the woods. In a small town.

And people call us legendary hunters.

At least he has his gun.


	7. Chapter 7

Warning! May be triggering! Thoughts of self-harm and suicide.

Dean's POV

Cas loved the stars.

That's all I can think as I stare up at them. He loved them almost as much as he loved humans. He could talk about people for hours. They fascinated him to no end.

"How important is lipstick to you, Dean?"

You know, half the time I didn't have a damn clue what he was talking about. But it didn't matter, because it was Cas. And he was beautiful.

"I love you."

He had said that as he was choking on the filth that was going to take away his life. He said it to me.

He was braver than I could ever be.

I slide to the ground, resting my back against a tree trunk. The darkness closes up around me, but I don't panic. It's better this way.

I can feel the steel of my pistol tucked in my waistband. Pulling it out, the cold metal pricks at my hands.

I wonder how long it would take Sam to find me.

I wonder where I would go.

I wonder whether I'd see Cas again.

My fingers hesitate on the trigger. If it was a guarantee, I'd pull it in a heartbeat. But I don't know for sure that Cas would be waiting for me. And so my fingers shake so bad they drop the gun.

I can't even pull the goddamned trigger.

I fall forward, my head in my hands, and I just scream. I'm far enough into the trees that no one should hear me. I let my voice tear through the night sky, through the stars that Cas loved so much.

Eventually, my voice gives out, and I can scream no more. I'm left silently sobbing, slamming my fist into the gravel ground over and over and over again, feeling the sharp rocks shred my skin. But I can't stop.

The ground is painted red. My hand is a stained mess. But I can't stop.

It hurts so bad. But I can't stop.

I just can't stop.

Why can't I stop?


	8. Chapter 8

Jack's POV

Dean still has not returned.

I do not know where he has gone, and neither does Sam. I find that unsettling, but Sam does not feel it merits his worry. He says that Dean just needs space.

There is space here, why does he have to leave? It is too cold to be out there without proper protection. However, Sam knows Dean better than I, so I settle into the cushions of the couch, leaving the second bed open for Dean, when he gets back.

Sam is out almost instantly. I do not have that skill. I lay back, my eyes tracing the pattern on the ceiling.

Still, I cannot sleep. Something is bothering me, but I cannot figure it out. Plumping the pillows, I try adjusting my accommodations. Then, I try getting a glass of water. After that, a bite to eat.

Nothing helps.

Hours seem to tick by. Dean is still not back. His bed lays there, open and inviting. It does not take long for me to give in. 

The bed is much more comfortable than the lumpy couch, but again, I cannot sleep. Apparently the problem does not lie in the quality of mattress.

As I lay there, I am hit with the strangest feeling. Pain, but not my own. It is so poignant, so sharp and clear. Without even thinking, I make my way to the door, remembering to grab my coat, and follow the trail of agony into the woods.

—

When I stumble upon the source of the pain, it does not surprise me to see Dean Winchester in the centre of it. What does surprise me, however, are the twin tracks of tears and the fist that he keeps slamming into the ground.

I now know why monsters are terrified of Dean Winchester.

As I come closer, I can see him sobbing. Whether from physical pain or mental anguish, it is impossible to tell. Probably both.

Slowly, carefully, I approach him. Though I try my best not to startle him, he still jumps at the sight of me. It's painful to see a man like Dean Winchester in such a state, but it is, at the same time, humbling.

Gently, I take his hand and wrap it in cloth. I'll bandage it better once we get back to the motel. All the while, I speak softly to him, just like Sam did for me.

I pull him to his feet, and notice that his pistol is laying on the ground. I pick it up and tuck it in my belt before proceeding to lead Dean back to the room.

I suppose it is true, I think as I guide him home. Dean Winchester truly did love the angel Castiel. With all his heart.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam's POV

I wake up to find Dean and Jack in the other bed, which is shocking enough. Even more troublesome is the fact that Dean's gun is lying, disassembled, on the table. Another unsettling factoid: Dean's right hand is bandaged up.

What the hell happened last night?

I decide to wake Jack instead of Dean. He's an angry sleeper.

Gently, I shake the nephilim awake. "Jack," I say softly, "wake up."

His eyes flicker open and he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. For a moment, he looks puzzled. Then realization dawns. "I suppose you'd like to know about last night," he says.

—

I can't believe it.

I mean, I can. It's totally a Dean thing to do. I mean, what with his obsessive need to save everybody and his almost paralyzing fear of commitment and settling down, I should've seen this coming.

But I didn't want to.

That's all it boils down to. My own selfishness. I wish it was surprising.

Hearing Dean stir, the two of us turn to look. Hd unearths himself from a pile of blankets and immediately goes for the fridge, grabbing a beer and popping off the cap.

"Already?" I ask. "Dean, it's nine o'clock. Don't you think it's a little early?"

He chuckles, but not with humour. "Don't worry, Sammy, it's seven p.m. somewhere."

Ah, the five stages of Winchester grief: booze, booze, booze, booze, and finally, booze. Of course, by the time all the stages are complete, the mourner has suffered massive liver failure and alcohol poisoning.

So yeah. That's extremely healthy.

"Dean, I really think you should go for coffee," Jack says, shocking us both.

Dean speaks, after a minute of silence, and says, "I appreciate the concern, kid, but really, I'm fine."

Which only shocks me more.

What the hell happened to Dean last night?


	10. Chapter 10

Dean's POV

I don't know how I convince Sam to take Jack and hunt this shifter by themselves. They drop me off at Mia's, and idle outside until I go in.

There's no one there except the receptionist, who's way to chipper. "What can I get for you today?" he asks.

"I'm here to see the Doc," I say, "and I'll take a Scotch, neat, on the rocks."

To his credit, the man can take a joke. He laughs, a full, good-natured laugh, and tells me to wait in the living room, and that Doc will be with me shortly.

He's not wrong. Within five minutes, Mia is ready for me. She doesn't seem surprised to see me at all.

"Ah. Dean. Come in."

I take a seat, and promptly put my head in my hands. I don't know why I'm even here. It's not like she can help me.

"What happened to your hand, Dean?" she asks, though I suspect she already knows. I stay silent, and she keeps talking. "You did it to yourself, didn't you?"

Still, I say nothing.

"Do you think Cass would've wanted this for you?"

Of course not.

When Mia speaks again, her voice is soft and gentle. "Can you tell me about her?"

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I look up. She looks at me encouragingly, and I begin. "Cas was beautiful."

Yes, he was.

"When Cas spoke, the harshness of the world faded. When Cas smiled, I felt less broken, less of a monster. Cas never let anyone do something that they'd regret, but would do anything for anyone. Cas was an angel."

It's silent in the room for a long time. Mia says nothing, only scrawls notes on her notepad.

Suddenly, it strikes me how much more I need to say.

"I had a real crappy childhood, y'know. My dad was always gone, and when he wasn't, he was drunk. Completely wasted. I raised Sam all on my own— tried to make him into everything I wasn't. And I succeeded. But now I can see that I've turned into my father, in all his abusive glory."

Again, I heave a sigh. Mia is silent.

"When I met Cas, I was in a really bad place. I was confused, and hurting, and I just wanted everything to stop. Cas told me I deserved to be saved, and for a long time, I didn't believe it. But Cas made me believe it. Kept telling me it until it stuck."

A salty wetness slides down my cheek, but I continue. "And then Jack came along. Cas told me that it would be fine, that I would be a wonderful father, nothing like my own. I didn't believe her. How could I? I'd been in relationships like hat before— Lisa and Ben, for instance— and I always turn out an obsessive bastard. I told Cas that I would try, but no promises.

"And then Cas..." trailing off, I wipe at my eyes with the back of my I damaged hand. I can't finish the thought.

Mia finishes it for me. "And then Cass died. And you were left hurting and confused.

I nod, unable to trust my voice.

"It's okay, Dean. This is hard to deal with. But you'll be alright. You're strong. Someone who might not walk away from this is Jack."

Her words surprise me, and I look up. Mia elaborated, "The only people Jack has left are you and Sam. And he need you, Dean, to be there for him. To be his father. And even though you're scared, you can't run away from it. Do you understand?"

I think I do. I tell her that, thank her, and call up Sam as I walk out of the office, making sure to wink at the receptionist as I do. Sam answers on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, I'm done. How's the hunt?"

"Over. Shifter's dead, body's burned. Jack and I went to grab a bite to eat."

I look at the time. Right about lunch. "Okay, well, pick me up a burger and meet me at the motel. We'll check out and hit the road."

"Alright. See you there."

"Bye," I say, then end the call. Pulling out my earbuds, I start the trek to the motel on foot.


	11. Chapter 11

Jack's POV

When Sam and I get back to the motel, Dean is already there, showering. I can hear the water running, and steam is billowing out through the door.

Sam puts the bags of fast food on the table. He said that we couldn't eat in the car or Dean would throw a bitch fit. I sit down across from him and start into my burger, analyzing every bite. I can see why Dean is so fond of them.

The water shuts off. He should be out any minute now. I look at Sam, who is eating his own meal. 

Dean opens the door and comes out, towel wrapped around his waist. "Jesus!" he shouts when he sees us, nearly dropping the towel in shock. It appears we have startled him.

"Dammit, Sam," he grouches, Hans over his heart, "don't do that!"

He slides into the chair next to me, dripping water all over the floor. Grabbing his own burger, he takes huge bites, tearing into it. He finishes it almost too quickly; I've barely started.

"Alright," he mumbles, brushing the crumbs off his hands, "I'm going to put some clothes on. You two finish here, then pack up."

Dean grabs his duffel and hauls it back into the bathroom. This time, I hear the door shut and the lock click.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean's POV

I pull into a gas station, Baby's engine roaring. Sam and I both hop out, him to pay inside and me to fill the tank.

"Dean? Could I talk to you?" Jack asks, his voice timid. His entire frame reeks of nervousness.

Keeping in mind what Mia said, I say, "Yeah, Sure, kid. Just let me get this started." Quickly, I finish up, slotting the gas nozzle into the Impala and leaving it there. Leaning against the car, I rest my elbows on the open window. "So, what's up?"

"I'm still trying to understand," he says, the confusion written plainly on his face. "Why do we have to lie?"

I sigh. "Well, Jack," I begin, not entirely sure of what to say, "there are lots of reasons. One of them is to get what we want. If we tell people the truth— that we hunt monsters— they get scared of us, or they think we're crazy, which makes it harder for us to do our jobs. Sometimes impossible. And then the bad thing gets away."

So far I haven't lost him. "Sometimes we do it to protect people. If they knew everything that they thought was fake was real, there'd be mass panic, again, making it harder for hunters like us to do our jobs."

He looks up at me, another question in his eyes. "How do they not know that you're lying to them?"

"Two reasons," I say. "One: I've been doing this job since I was four or five. I'm a damn good liar. And two: people believe what they want to hear. They don't want to hear that monsters exist, so they just block out the possibility."

I laugh slightly. "You're mom was like that," I say. "When we told her you weren't human, that you were something more, she almost didn't believe us. But I think she knew, deep down, that you were special."

For a moment, I think I've said something wrong. Then Jack says, so quietly that I almost miss it, "What was she like?"

"She was strong, faithful," I say. "She knew you'd do great things, even when all of Heaven and Hell and Earth were telling her that she was wrong."

He says nothing. I take a breath.

"You're like her, you know."

When Jack looks at me again, he's got tears in his eyes. Shaky, he says, "How do you know?"

"Kid, I've met Lucifer, and you're nothing like him. But I met your mom."

His tears break loose and roll down his cheeks. Jack makes no attempt to stop them.

The pump beeps, and get up to deal with it. I pull out the nozzle, then open the back door to the Impala. Sliding in next to him, I put a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay," I say softly.

He looks up at me, fear on his tear-stained face. His voice hasn't lost its trembling quality. "I'm afraid."

"Why? Why are you afraid?" I ask him, though I think I know the reason. I feel a pang of guilt. This is my fault.

"Sam thinks that—that I'm good. He wants me to believe it, and I wanna believe it, too. It's just, I... I've hurt people. I didn't mean to. It was an accident," Jack rambles. "And I know I should feel bad, and I say I feel bad, but most of the time, I mostly..." he trails off, takes a breath, then continues, "I don't feel anything. And that's why I think maybe... Maybe I'm a monster."

I look his dead in his watery eyes, and say, "Jack. It doesn't matter what you are. It matters what you do. And even monsters can do good in this world."

His tears slow. "You really believe that?" he whispers, like it's too good to be true.

"I have to, kid," I say, this time whispering. "I have to."

We sit there in the back in silence, then he flings himself at me. For a moment, I am at a loss, unsure of what to do. Then I put my arms around Jack and hold him, saying nothing about the silent sobs that rack his frame. And he says nothing about my own tears.

For the first time in a long time, I feel at peace.


End file.
